


Discretion

by AM Slaughter (PoisonWrites)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Claiming, Dirty Talk, Dominant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution Roleplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Spanking, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 03:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonWrites/pseuds/AM%20Slaughter
Summary: Mr. Fell wasn’t what he had been expecting. London came in all flavors, but Crowley’s clients tended to be of one. Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome. The vast majority also loved to be called “daddy” or “sir”, which Crowley wasn’t complaining about; it made his job easier. The thing was, though, Mr. Fell hardly looked like a “sir”. Rentboy!AU-ish





	Discretion

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the Good Omens Kink meme on Dreamwidth! 
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> Established relationship: sometimes they like to spice things up by pretending Crowley is a high-class rentboy picked up by discreet client Mr. Fell for some high-class fuckin' in a high-class hotel (bottom Crowley and penises for both). 
> 
> Bonuses:  
> \+ they go a little rougher than usual (Crowley's "paid for," after all)  
> \+ Crowley isn't "allowed" to see any other "clients" than Mr. Fell  
> \+ post-play cuddling
> 
> This is...pure smut. You have been warned.

Crowley had never been to the Ritz, especially after dark. Oh, he had been to a number of upper-class establishments in the London area, but the bar of the Ritz seemed to glitter in a way the others didn’t. As it was, he was sitting at the bar, drinking a martini that was  _ much _ too expensive, and waiting on his client.

The way things worked in the business, Crowley tended to know his clients. He usually only had two or three regulars at a time; all well-paid, discreet gentlemen, with the obligatory wife and 2.5 kids waiting at home. They would buy him dinner, bugger him silly in a hotel room (or in the back of their car, should they be overdue for an appointment), and then hand him a fat wad of cash. The nice ones might kiss his cheek before leaving.

He was all very familiar with them. Tom, the banker. Richard, the politician. His favorite at the moment was Gabriel. The sod never wanted to talk, but tipped amazingly; Crowley had bought himself a new pair of Louboutin’s with the last. 

Which is why, when he received the request from one named “Mr. Fell”, he didn’t immediately accept. He had never heard of a Mr. Fell, the name not popping up on Google or in any of his back contacts. He left a lovely handwritten note, however, which invited Crowley to meet him, May 28th, at 9pm, at the Ritz. He assured that all expenses would be paid for, and ended the letter with a 100 pounds. Well, Crowley was never one to turn down 100 pounds, or a free drink. 

It was ten past. Crowley would give the man another five minutes, and should he wait any longer than that, he was leaving. He looked around, noting the people at the bar. There was a woman and a man, smiling over glasses of wine, and a young woman, texting someone with a look of concentration on her face. There was also an older man, most likely in his seventies, flicking through a journal. Crowley felt his heart sink, bracing for the man to look up and notice him.

“Right good night for a drink, though I think this time of year is better for champagne. I don’t know about you, but I consider a martini more of a winter beverage.”

Crowley turned around, a decidedly younger man now in the seat that was, minutes ago, unoccupied. His hair was blond, almost white, and was wild and windblown from the season. He looked to be in his fifties, eyes soft around the corners and glowing blue. He looked kind.

“I think anytime is good for a martini. Buy you one?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I thought I was the one who was to be buying the drinks,” a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Crowley?”

“Ah.” Really? Mr. Bowtie and tartan? “Mr. Fell, was it?”

“The very same.” 

“Nice of you to show up.” 

“Work was busy, and you know how the M25 is.”

“I wouldn’t know, I rarely leave London.” Mr. Fell looked on the verge of a laugh, and Crowley nudged his foot under the bar.

Mr. Fell wasn’t what he had been expecting. London came in all flavors, but Crowley’s clients tended to be of one. Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome. The vast majority also loved to be called “daddy” or “sir”, which Crowley wasn’t complaining about; it made his job easier. The thing was, though, Mr. Fell hardly looked like a “sir”. He looked more like he was going to pull a quarter from behind his ear at any moment.

“You look lovely, by the way.” 

“Thanks, I try to dress for the occasion.” And he had. His fiery curls hung loosely around his face, one side held back with a golden pin. A gold pendant dripped from his throat and down his chest, where a wrap-around sweater hung  _ just _ enough off his shoulders to entice an onlooker to his collarbone. He also wore the tightest jeans he owned, which was only common sense on his part. 

Suddenly, Mr. Fell’s hand came up to touch his hair. His hand landed on the pin, tilting it just enough for him to see. “Religious?”

“What makes you say that?” Crowley took a sip from his drink. Mr. Fell was still mussing his hair, and he did not break eye contact.

“Angel wings.”

“They could be bird wings, for all you know.”

“No, I’ve seen this imagery before…” His hand left the pin, and was now traveling down his jaw. The pads of his fingers left traces, gentle as butterfly kisses, from his ear, to his lips, and down his throat. He skimmed the sensitive flesh, and Crowley felt his breath catch. “Your necklace matches.”

“They were a set.”

“Mmm.” He leaned forward, close enough to where his breath ghosted over the shell of Crowley’s ear, “What else might you be hiding under that lovely outfit of yours?”

“Mr. Fell, I haven’t even finished my drink.”

“You’re done when I say you’re done.” Crowley felt a heat land warm and heavy in his belly.  _ Oh _ .

“Now,” Mr. Fell continued, his hand working his way to Crowley’s knee. “I’ve booked us a lovely room upstairs. Room 304. I’ll give you the key in a moment, and when I do, I want you to take yourself up, and get yourself ready for me, yes?”

“Most people actually like to  _ be  _ there.” Crowley couldn’t help but snap. Mr. Fell’s hand moved away from his knee. He placed a finger over Crowley’s lips, shushing him. He gave a disapproving tut.

“No, No, my dear. None of that, or else there will be consequences. I’ve booked you for three hours, and I decide what to do with that time.”

“Yes…sir.” Crowley felt the weight of the word on his tongue.

“Mr. Fell will do.” 

Someone help him, Crowley was already hardening in his pants. When his client handed him the key, it was all he could do not to bolt to the elevators and rub one out post-haste. Most of the men saw this as a business, nothing more than a transaction.  _ Hello, can I get one large coffee?Oh, and one blowjob, please?  _

Mr. Fell was…blast, he was gorgeous, and his catty smile didn’t do anything to help. What business did he have being so sexy dressed in that much khaki? The exchange at the bar had him more flustered than he had been in months, and when he got onto the elevator, he forced himself to press his hands flush against the steel walls, lest he touched himself. Even so, his hips bucked lamely in the air, trying to find purchase against the taut fabric of his jeans. 

The elevator door dinged, and Crowley rushed out, just down the hall to where the door to room 304 was. He let himself in, and found the room dark, save for the lamp illuminated next to the bed. In its light, Crowley could see a box; black, and bound with a ribbon just as dark. 

_ Mr. Fell _ …Crowley smirked, walking through the suit,  _ showing off a bit, aren’t we? _ It was by far the nicest room he had ever been fucked in. It sprawled as wide as his own apartment, filled with gold ornaments and upholstered furniture that had to have been antique. The room smelled like sandalwood and vanilla.

The bed itself was huge, and Crowley sat himself on it to open the package. There was a small tag on it, and in the same script that the letter had come in days earlier,  _ Crowley _ was written. He had to hand it to the man, Mr. Fell had good taste, and Crowley’s opinion was only furthered when he opened the box.

Inside, cradled gently between dark satin, was a toy. It was slightly longer than a standard plug, and it had a remote next to it. It was matte black, and felt heavy in Crowley’s hand as he picked it up to examine it. There was also a bottle of lube, inside the package, and yet another note.

_ Crowley, _ it began,  _ Seeing as I am quite the busy man, I’ve settled on an idea that saves myself the time and energy of preparing my toy for the night. While you wait for me, please begin to ready yourself. Place the toy inside yourself, and make yourself comfortable on the bed. I do ask, however, that you not touch yourself, or attempt to cum before my arrival. Both will result in punishment of the unpleasant sort. — Mr. Fell _

Crowley’s breath came out in a shudder, but he stood himself up and worked off his clothes. He folded them nicely (he wasn’t an animal), and laid back against the bed’s pillows, making himself comfortable, just as he was asked.

—

The clock said it was twenty minutes later, but Crowley felt like hours had passed. When he had stretched himself open, putting in the plug, the mere feel of its velvety smoothness inside him was almost enough to send him over the edge. He whined, gripping the sheets and rocking his hips so the damned, beautifully made thing didn’t hit his prostate with every breath. This went on for ten minutes, before he was finally able to open his eyes, and able to stand the feeling of fullness.

Without jostling himself too much, he reached over to the bedside table, where he had placed the remote. Picking it up and examining it, there seemed to be roughly 10 combinations he could make on the remote alone. He tried what seemed to be the lowest setting, only to throw his head back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut and whining into the air. This went on for some time, Crowley writhing helplessly from the plug, unable to touch himself or so much as  _ move _ , when finally, the door opened.

“Enjoying yourself?” The door clicked shut, and there was the sound of clothes rustling. 

“You certainly know how to keep someone in suspense.”

“They have wonderful cocktails downstairs. Would be a shame to let them go to waste.” Crowley heard him move to the bed, the old floor of the Ritz creaking under his feet. 

“My, my, aren’t you a sight.” The bed dipped next to Crowley, and a warm hand was placed on his thigh. Crowley kept his eyes closed, concentrating on his breathing. Inside him, the plug buzzed. “You look positively debauched.” 

“Nnngh—“ Was all Crowley managed to work out.

“If I were a different man, I would say you look…well, you almost look slutty, spread out and soaking wet for me, grinding down in hopes of a real cock. You want a real cock, don’t you? You want someone to fuck you?” Crowley felt lightheaded, his arousal washing over his body like the hottest bath water. 

“P-Please, sir.” He bit out.

Where Crowley’s legs were open, bent towards his chest and opening himself to the toy, a hand was brought down roughly on his inner thigh. “I don’t believe that’s my name.”

Crowley gasped, his leg stinging, “Mr. Fell! Yes, Mr. Fell, I’m sorry.”

“There’s a good boy.” Crowley felt a hand in his hair, stroking almost gently. “You know, I’ve seen you before, at parties and such. You get around London, don’t you? You would slut around the whole city for a fat cock and a hundred pounds, wouldn’t you?”

Crowley said nothing, and another swat was brought down on his thigh. “Answer me please, darling.”

“I would,” He gasped, and Satan, he was so achingly hard. He could feel the cool precum on his belly, dappling it with every movement and thrust against the plug. The sting of the swats hurt so good, too, the sharp reprimand intermingling with the velvety pleasure he was wrapped in. “I would do anything, especially right now.”

“I can see why you’re so popular. You’re gorgeous, practically gagging for it.” The hand in Crowley’s hair tightened and yanked, exposing his throat, “But, from now on, you’re mine. Unfortunately for you, I am an extremely jealous lover.”

At that, Crowley cracked his eyes open, looking towards Mr. Fell. His jacket and bowtie were removed, but otherwise he was clothed. His glowing, blue eyes were sapphire in the dim lighting, locked onto Crowley’s own. Crowley was panting, open-mouthed, unable to form any sort of words. He just stared back.

“Now, I’m going to play with you. I’m going to mark you wherever I want, because you’re _ mine _ now. Then, I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you unti—Oh goodness, red. Red.”

Crowley immediately sat up, pushing past the sensation of the plug to cradle Aziraphale’s face. “Angel, what’s wrong?” His body burned, every part of him was alight, but Aziraphale…He would swim through holy water for Aziraphale. 

“No! Dearest, no, it’s all right.” Like that, the scene was falling away, turning to ashes around them, “I just…”

“Are you not enjoying this?” 

“I am, very much so, but I…I’m being rather harsh, and I wanted to make sure you were still okay.”

Crowley could have melted, right then, right there. “Oh,  _ angel _ .” He pulled his lover in, kissing him softly on the lips. He tasted of vanilla, the silly angel most likely ordering a pasty to the bar rather than any real alcohol. How he loved him, the silly, fussy thing. “Aziraphale, I’ll let you know if something is too much.”

“I trust you my dear. I just don’t want you to push yourself for me.”

“Aziraphale…” He pulled back, running a hand down the side of his face with all the tenderness his shaking hand could bring, “ _ Please _ fuck me. Hard.”

Crowley was being pushed back, a flat palm on his chest guiding him none-too-gently downwards. “Then ask nicely, slut.” A moan wrecked through Crowley’s body before he was able to stop.

“P-please, Mr. Fell.”

“Do you always beg your clients to fuck you?” The hand was back in his hair, pulling deliciously against his roots, “Are you that desperate?”

“No, Mr. Fell. Just you.”

Mr. Fell flipped him over, so fast that Crowley got a face-full of pillow. One second it was there, and the next it wasn’t, and he was able to breathe, should he want, against the mattress. He moved his arms up, cradling his head. 

“I  _ was _ going to fuck you, but I think I need to teach you a lesson in patience first. You deserve a bit of punishment, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Fell.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I deserve to be punished.”

Mr. Fell brought his palm down, his slap burning into the skin of Crowley’s ass. “Good boy.” Crowley yelped as he took another.

In total, Crowley counted ten spanks, after which he was sure his ass was red and burning. He rutted fruitlessly against the sheets, every strike a delicious friction against his cock. God, he needed to feel something, his cock so desperate for the smallest bit of attention. 

“Ah-ah.” Mr. Fell finally caught on during the last spank, watching as Crowley canted his hips, “That’s not allowed, you know that.” Soft fingertips were on Crowley’s hips, pulling him onto all fours. He whined, the friction gone and his cock bobbing helplessly beneath him. From its head, precum dripped. 

“Mr. Fell, please, I—“ He was cut off by a wet sensation at his hole. Mr. Fell’s tongue, playing with the sensitive skin that fluttered at the base. He gasped, the sensation was almost too much, too much for Crowley to stand. Mr. Fell’s hands moved, one spreading his cheeks farther apart, the other pushing the plug in just  _ so _ . Crowley dropped to his forearms, ass still presented for his client. 

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you.” Mr. Fell pulled back, and delivered a final smack. 

The client stood, and Crowley turned to look at him. “Now, I’m afraid your theatrics have done little to arouse me, but if you want to be a helpful whore, you are allowed to suck my cock. Would you like that?” And Crowley nodded, eagerly. 

“How do you want me, Mr. Fell?” He asked moving to a sitting position.

“On your knees.”

He slid off the bed, coming to his knees on the floor. He looked up, just for a moment, into his client’s eyes. He was met with an icy blue stare. “You expect me to do your job?” He put a hand on top of Crowley’s head, not pulling, not yet, “Undo my belt. Take my cock out yourself. There’s a good boy.”

Mr. Fell was possibly stretching the truth a bit earlier, Crowley noted, because he was just as hard and aching as himself. When Crowley’s released him from his trappings, his cock bounced heavily in the air, Crowley’s mouth immediately on it.

“Don’t get too eager, dear, or you’ll spoil yourself for later.” His client tugged back on his hair, pulling Crowley’s mouth off of his prick. “I want you to sit here properly. Hands in your lap, while I fuck your face. I didn’t pay for your pleasure.” 

Crowley groaned. At this, he earned a light swat to his face. “Apologize for being a greedy slut.” 

His cheek stung. It felt delicious, the corner of his mouth fighting to not twitch up into a smirk, “I’m sorry, Mr. Fell, I’m a greedy slut.”

“You are, aren’t you? So good at being used. Open your mouth, let me in.” Crowley held open his mouth, tongue out slightly, inviting his client, and Mr. Fell…oh, he wasted no time at all, burying himself deep in his throat. 

Both of his hands were on either side of his head, starting once again gentle, playing along Crowley’s temple. He sat inside Crowley, buried in his throat and not moving. He was big, too, not long but thick, and saliva pooled in Crowley’s mouth both from want and use. Finally, his client tightened his fists, carefully avoiding Crowley’s pin, and pulled back, thrusting brutally back in. Crowley choked. 

“Beautiful.” He did this once more, and Crowley felt the saliva leak from the corner of his mouth, drool seeping down his chin. His lips were wet; wet and messy from the abuse, and Mr. Fell’s cock slipped out more easily, now, moving in and out faster. 

“You look absolutely beautiful, being used like this. I could cum right down your throat from this alone. Would you want that? To feel my release slide hot and thick down your eager little throat?” He was all Crowley could taste, all he could smell. His very being cloyed deep inside Crowley, clawing through his mind and rendering him mad on the stench of sex. He couldn’t get enough, but he kept himself still, allowing Mr. Fell to take what he wanted. And he did, fucking his face hard, every few thrusts his hands growing tighter,  _ tighter  _ in Crowley’s locks.

“My dear.” He felt a thumb at the corner of his eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled and spilled over. “How beautiful you look crying around my prick.” He pulled out, and Crowley gasped. “I look forward to seeing just how much I can make you shed those pretty tears in the future. But for now,” Crowley was being pulled up, urged to his feet by his hair, “I’m going to take what I paid for.” 

“Bend over the bed for me. Like that, yes.” Crowley felt so exposed, totally naked in the presence of his client, who only had his fly undone. The toy was still inside him, buzzing away its blasted rhythm. Bent at the waist was worse, because it caused the toy to slip in farther. It danced across his prostate, and he mewled, face once again buried in his arms.

“Now, that certainly won’t do.” The toy was removed in one slick motion. Crowley bit his lip, tears still spilling over. Satan, he was so overstimulated, it was like he was going to fall apart at the seams at any moment. Any mortal body would have given out, would have succumb to the pure torture that was waiting to be fucked by Mr. Fell. He couldn’t take it, he needed— _ anything _ .

“ _ Please. _ ” He was crying, he could hear himself.

“You poor thing. Begging.”

“Please fuck me, Mr. Fell.”

And there it was. No fingers, the toy had kept him open and wanting for long enough. His cock slipped in his prepped hole, and  _ oh _ , it was so much bigger, more delicious than the toy. Gently, torturously slowly, his client seated himself to the hilt. 

“Do your other clients not fuck you properly? You seem so desperate.” A hand down his back, turning to nails, raking over his sensitive skin. He could feel the welts that popped up in their wake.

“Not like this, no.”

“Do you want them to?”

“No, Mr. Fell. Only you.”

“Say it, then. Again.” The hand moved to the base of his neck, gripping. He used it as leverage, driving impossibly deep into Crowley. 

“I only want you,” His voice was bowstrings, taut and tuned beyond what was natural. Mr. Fell pulled out, and then fucked into him, hard. Cruelly.

“Only you!”

“I don’t want you selling yourself to anyone else, now, do you hear me?” His pace became harsh, but not like the men he had fucked before. This was purposeful, driving home, each thrust hitting his prostate like he knew, like he was trying to drive Crowley over the edge without so much as touching his cock.

“Yes! Yes sir.”

“You’re all mine. You’re my toy.”

“Your toy. Just yours.” He was being taken apart, hit after hit, thrust after thrust. His abused scalp was being pulled at again, arching him against the bed. Mr. Fell covered his back, stomach to spine, his mouth close to Crowley’s ear.

“I’m going to cum in you now. I’m going to make you mine, and only mine.” Crowley tried to nod, but he was held fast.

“Cum for me too, won’t you, dear?” And he didn’t have to be asked twice. 

The moment his hand touched his cock, Crowley was spilling onto the sheets, releasing more than he felt like he ever had. He was also sure he never did scream as loudly as he did then, feeling Mr. Fell release in tandem with him, buried in his ass. Like smelling holy water, Crowley could feel all of the angel’s grace spilling forward, tingling in the back of his throat. He fell face forward onto the bed, boneless and aching and spent so,  _ so _ well. Behind him, Aziraphale panted.

“Oh, dear! Dear, please.” Aziraphale was himself again, and somewhere beyond the fog of his orgasm, Crowley felt himself being lifted onto the bed, his head resting against the pillows. 

“Are you all right, my love?” 

“Mmm?” When had he closed his eyes? Aziraphale was laying next to him, palm warm and cradling his cheek. He was naked, now, and pressed close to Crowley’s warm, shaking body. “I’m…Bless, Aziraphale.”

“You did so good, my boy. So good. I love you so dearly, you know that?”

“Love you too, angel.” He smiled, and received one in return. “Blimey, that was…Wow.”

“You can say that again.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you!  _ Mr. Fell _ , oh, I think I rather liked that bloke.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Well, you won’t be seeing him again for quite some time. I think that satisfied  _ that  _ part of me for the better part of a century.”

Crowley walked his fingers up his lover’s chest, up and up until he reached his nose. He tapped it, “Maybe next time you can be the rent boy, and I’ll be the discerning customer.” Aziraphale blushed. “I had a whole backstory, you know!”

“Oh?” Aziraphale waved his hand, and it was only then that Crowley noticed the sheets were perfectly clean and in order again.

“Oh yes, Gabriel was one of my customers!”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, “ _ Please  _ don’t bring my boss into this.” But he was laughing, and Crowley found himself laughing too.

“Don’t worry, angel, he wasn’t nearly as good a customer as you. He was, what are they calling it nowadays? He ‘ _ hit it and quit it’—“ _ Crowley was being silenced by a kiss, soft but enough to make him lose his train of thought.

“Bring him up one more time, and Mr. Fell might have to make another appearance.”

“Oh, Satan, angel, anything but that.”

“Hush.” But Crowley couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “Now, if you’re done, I think there’s a lovely tub waiting for us in the bathroom. Fancy a soak?”

“Order champagne to the room first, won’t you?”

“I believe there may be some waiting in the bathroom already.” Aziraphale smiled, and it was like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. It was like every rounded edge was aligned with Crowley’s own; their own puzzle, comprised of their souls. 

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too. I love you more than anything.” And with that, they made their way to the bathroom. 

If they spent the better part of an hour soaking in the water, drinking champagne and miracling strawberries to snack on, not a single soul in London was any the wiser. The only thing that was certain was that the strange, loud thumping noises coming from room 304 started up again much too soon, but even that was brushed aside. Mr. Fell was very discreet, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
> My tumblr! https://poisonwrites.tumblr.com/ Come say hi!


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